


Self-Made

by transpunkspacejunk



Series: Trans!Rorschach [1]
Category: Watchmen (2009), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Injections, M/M, Post-Roche, Pre-Karnak, Sylvia Kovacs deserves her own warning, Trans Male Character, Trans!Rorschach, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpunkspacejunk/pseuds/transpunkspacejunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rorschach knows everything about Daniel, from his secret identity to his favorite music to the way he looks in the deepest, unguarded sleep.</p><p>Daniel knows more about Rorschach than anyone else cares to, but so much about him still doesn't add up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rorschach is transgender (in case you missed it in the tags), and he hasn't had any surgeries. He has been on testosterone for years and anyone who knew him pre-transition is either dead or wouldn't know him from Adam.
> 
> This is not every trans person's story. We are individuals and all have different experiences/make different decisions for ourselves and our bodies.
> 
> Please keep your health and safety in mind as some things might be triggery (read the tags and take them seriously, they're there to make sure everyone has a good time).
> 
> I DID SO MUCH HANDWAVING WITH THE TESTOSTERONE. It definitely existed when Walter was a teenager, but I have NO IDEA how easy it was to obtain. He also self-medicates and binds his chest with cloth bandages, both of which have some possible serious side-effects. Stay safe, kiddoes. 
> 
> I'm writing all of this on my phone in one swoop at three in the morning. Please point out any mistakes so I can fix them when I feel more human.

Rorschach knew everything about Daniel, from his secret identity to his favorite music to the way he looked in the deepest, unguarded sleep. 

The trust implicit in Daniel's acceptance of Rorschach into his home was something he outwardly scorned, but privately cherished. This man had seen Rorschach's hostility, his destructive, despicable energy, and invited him into his home seemingly without a thought. Rorschach wanted to hate him for his weakness, this desperate need to tend to strays that would likely be the death of him, but Daniel was nothing but good, and the hate wouldn't come. 

Instead a much more insidious emotion was corroding Rorschach's steely resolve, rusting holes in the armored layers and seeping in to burn his insides. It made him soft, made him crave more of this gentleness and confused but patient acceptance.

He wanted to hate Daniel for that too. 

********

Wanda Kovacs was a homely little girl, a short, skinny, freckly redhead with a perpetually spooked air, but that didn't stop her mother's customers from trying to take liberties. 

She learned to throw a punch in the tiny apartment kitchen, making a grown man ball up around his abused groin after he saw fit to stand between her and the door. It was pure fear that drove her then, but she also learned that everyone, no matter how big, had a weak spot.

She wound up with a bruised face for it later, after her mother took out her frustrations ("Worthless little shit! Do you have any idea what you've done? He'll never come back now! Fucking ugly little bitch!"), but she felt so much stronger than she ever had.

Later, when another young, troubled inhabitant at Charlton snatched Wanda by the hair in an argument, she twisted out of the hold without a care for the chunk that tore free and put her fist in the girl's belly as hard as she could. After she got out of the home's own version of solitary confinement, she stole the shears from the drawer in the Singer sewing machine downstairs and hacked at her hair until she could clutch at her own scalp without being able to hold on. 

The angular, short-haired creature that looked back from the mirror pleased Wanda in a way she couldn't yet understand.

********

Before the turn of the next year, he wouldn't answer to anything but Walter.

********

Schoolwork was a good way to escape reality. Books and essays and quizzes made sense, the memorization and recitation of so many different works simple to Walter's mostly black-and-white mind.

English and religious studies were his best subjects, but Walter liked science too. A five-year-old text on "recent scientific breakthroughs" seemed like an interesting enough read to the bookish fifteen-year-old, which was why he found himself reading and re-reading the same article on masculinizing medication obsessively for three weeks. He didn't want to think about what it was made of, but a shot could help him. A simple, measly shot could deepen his voice, could sharpen his softness. It was more than he could have ever dreamed of and it was really real. He would have it if it killed him.

********

When he aged out of Charlton, Walter took a job making and mending clothes. He disliked the proximity to so much feminine drapery, but everyone took him at face value when he introduced himself as Walter and he needed the money.

His voice had deepened more than he had dared hope and he now sported a constant reddish stubble that he was loathe to remove, even despite coworkers' less than tactful comments about personal grooming made within earshot.

Ill-fitting clothing and a restrictive layer of bandage around his already smallish chest made up the rest of his reality, and that was that. He remained short, freckly, and relatively skinny, but physical exercise lent some peace of mind and whipcord strength, and he slowly beat his body into shape like a blacksmith hammering red-hot iron. 

After Kitty Genovese died, vigilantism seemed the next logical step, really. 

********

Under the mask, he was whoever he wanted to be. Rorschach was a kind of freedom Walter never considered possible, unhindered by humanity and lent strength by anonymity. His impenetrable layers, both physical and figurative, kept him from needing to worry about what others thought when they looked at him, kept him from being afraid of his body betraying him.

Rorschach was everything Walter had ever wanted to be. He doled out justice, cleaned up filth, and didn't check and re-check the lines of his clothes like Walter did during the day to make sure nothing looked out of place. He kicked and jabbed and tackled and sprinted his way to the best physical shape of his life, barring occasional injuries sustained on the job. 

His already diminutive breasts burned away under the strain and were replaced with more corded muscle, making the need for his last, suffocating layer obsolete.

He did not consider his genitals. He never had. 

********

Nite Owl made Walter consider his genitals. 

This was a problem that was occurring with more and more frequency, and it was beginning to affect his performance on patrol. Nite Owl's uniform was worse than skintight, accentuating his brute strength and outlining his every plane and curve. He moved like water for all his size, flowing effortlessly through groups of thugs like a stream between river rocks, crashing over villains like a tsunami wave.

Trickling along Rorschach and eroding Walter's defenses like the force of nature he was. 

Walter became used to ending the night with a disgraceful and disgusting sensation between his legs as he walked, slippery and sickening. He relied on the scent of grime collected on his uniform to mask his humiliating state, sure anyone could smell his arousal otherwise. 

********

This was a nightmare. Daniel was making worried sounds and fussing at his leg and trying to work around his pinstripes and the bleeding from his leg wasn't stopping and soon Rorschach would black out from blood loss and Daniel would remove his trousers in a desperate bid to stop the bleeding and this was a NIGHTMARE. 

A fray with a sizeable group of topknots had left them at worse odds than they were used to, and one of the miscreants had gotten lucky and sank a knife into the back of Rorschach's thigh. The leg buckled without Rorschach's permission and he went down hard, but in a blind panic he managed to drive the knot's head into a nearby light pole hard enough to knock him unconscious. 

Nite Owl had lost his mind, snagging and dropping the remaining thugs with rare savagery until the stragglers scattered, and then he was at Rorschach's side. 

"Getting away, Nite Owl," Rorschach husked, nodding after the retreating gangsters, and Daniel actually huffed a laugh.

"That's not important right now, we need to fix this." Wrapping one of Rorschach's arms around his neck and hefting his compact but not insubstantial mass upright, he half-walked, half-dragged his bleeding partner into Archie. Then everything went to hell.

"NO, Daniel."

"I have to stitch this! I know you're shy but it's serious! Do I have to knock you out? Because I will!" Daniel had gone a little shrill, his cowl and goggles pushed back and off and hastily replaced by his glasses. 

"Fine like this," Rorschach managed, though his vision was going suspiciously grey around the edges.

"Rorschach, please," and his voice cracked on the "please", he sounded so broken. Between the shock and the blood loss Walter was losing consciousness for certain now, and he reasoned with himself that at least he wouldn't be awake to see Daniel's revulsion.

Walter's grip on Daniel's wrists eased and then ceased altogether, and he lay back so his head thunked against the floor of the owlship. 

"Fine."

********

Unused to Rorschach ceding defeat, Dan scrambled at Rorschach's belt and the fastenings of his pinstripes to yank them down and off. Rorschach was either out cold or close enough not to mind being manhandled, so he wasted no time in rolling Rorschach onto his left side to get at his right leg.

Apart from his partner's trademarked stubbornness causing worse blood loss than was necessary, everything seemed to go well enough. Dan got the wound cleaned and stitched easily, then went about re-dressing his stubborn, prickly, infuriating--

... Well, that was interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK HERE'S THE REST 
> 
> got some sleep, fretted over how much I hate my own writing, decided to post anyway. 
> 
> I actually didn't get around to a few of the things I meant to cover but it ended naturally and wouldn't give me any more. but there will be more works in this series! some of them will be sexy, others sad, all of them weird. 
> 
> enjoy!

Dan knew more about Rorschach than anyone else cared to, but so much about him still didn't add up. He was justice incarnate with countless prejudices, unstoppable ferocity with a sweet tooth. Rorschach was the epitome of old-school masculinity, without-- 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Dan ducked into the fridge to hunt for lunch.   
After having made sure all of Rorschach's clothes were in order the night before, he brought Archie home and carried the immobile vigilante up into the brownstone in a fireman's hold. Once he had been sure his partner was stable, only sleeping, he had left Rorschach in the guest room and weaved down the hallway like a drunk toward his own bed. He slept for about thirteen hours, and Rorschach was still out when he woke.

Stepping from the refrigerator to the counter opposite with a box of unidentified Chinese takeout, Dan replayed what had to be one of the more bizarre moments of his admittedly already unorthodox life. 

He had a mind for how things worked, an engineer's brain. He couldn't help but peripherally take in the newly bared pieces-parts of his partner and add them to the whole: tightly muscled calves, knees that would be knobbly on someone who wasn't roped and corded with strength like a miniature horse. Rorschach had lean, strong thighs that were heavier than they looked, speaking to his countless hours of propelling himself over and under and through their (beloved, despised) city. 

But all this led up to nothing. or, well, practically nothing, anyway. Rorschach wore simple white briefs under his uniform, surprising Dan not a bit. Graying with age and care, they were whisper thin and fit snugly but not over-tight to Rorschach's hips and... whatever else. Dan hadn't lingered, knowing that this was a boundary Rorschach would rather die than cross (especially unconscious), so he had simply put everything to rights and headed for home. 

The unidentified takeout carton held fried rice that seemed to have solidified into a single block. He pitched it into the garbage with a sigh and was beginning the search anew when movement from the doorway made him straighten up.

"Rorschach! You're awake."

Rorschach made one of his Rorschach noises, this one meaning "Obviously, Daniel," and limped to the little table he looked so... not at home, but less out-of-place at.

"I was gonna eat something. You hungry? Wait, scratch that, you have to be. You bled a lot and then slept forever, so don't try to tell me you're not hungry." The chatter continued into the refrigerator when Dan ducked back down to scare up anything edible.

He gave up hope a minute later, straightening and fixing his gaze on his partner, who was silent and still. 

"Guess I'll order in, I don't feel much like cooking. Pizza ok?"

Rorschach barely moved, just clenched his fists on the tabletop. Dan imagined he could hear the creak of his leather gloves. He looked like he wanted--needed--to say something.

"Everything ok, buddy?" Dan hazarded.

"Not a woman, Daniel," came the gruff, clipped voice.

"Whoa, yeah, I know. It's--I know," he finished lamely. "I didn't even, I don't... look, let me order food and then we'll have this conversation, okay? Just... yeah." He picked up the phone and dialed from memory, rattling off the order without thought. Replacing the phone, he faced Rorschach fully again. His partner hadn't moved at all, appearing for all the world like a statue. The minor shifting of ink across his face was the only indicator that he was even breathing.

"Look, it's not my.... you don't have to say anything." Dan looked at the floor, then at his partner. "It's not my business."

"Stitched my leg. Saw... how I am."

"I didn't, really! I got everything put back together and covered up as soon as I could, and--"

"Difficult to miss, Daniel," and Rorschach sounded... defeated. "Unnatural."

Dan's name always sounded different coming from Rorschach. Maybe it was because he called him Daniel instead of Dan, but he had always privately enjoyed the moments Rorschach could unwind a tiny fraction and call him by his name, could feel safe enough to be familiar with him.

"It's not unnatural if it's a part of you," was all he could think to say. "If you want to address it, go ahead. But nothing... nothing has to be different." 

Another Rorschach noise, and this one's meaning wasn't immediately apparent. For whatever reason, that left Dan uneasy. They were silent for long minutes.

"Don't like doctors," Rorschach started, "Don't like hospitals. Will choose death over imprisonment," the certainty in his partner's voice chilled Dan, "Cannot stand being... examined." 

"I'll take this to the grave, buddy, I swear," was all Dan could think to say. Rorschach's ever-shifting face seemed to study him for an endless moment.

"Hn." 

Good enough, apparently.

The doorbell nearly yanked Dan right out of his skin, and he couldn't calm the faint tremor in his hands as he unlocked the door, counted out money, received pizza boxes that smelled like nirvana made tangible.

Miracle of miracles, Rorschach was still at the table when Dan returned to the kitchen, triumphant. His leg must have hurt badly, but Dan had stopped offering painkillers after the hundredth refusal or so.

He set the food down in front of the scourge of the underworld and, realizing that hydration was likely also an issue, set about bringing a couple of bottles of soda to the table. It wouldn't do much, but Rorschach trusted tap water very little and beer not at all.

By the time he sat down Rorschach had inhaled most of a slice of pizza, and Dan smiled. Rorschach's face was rolled up to the bridge of his nose, revealing that roughly stubbled jaw that was the only part of an identity beyond the mask Dan had ever seen.  
Well, until... until. 

"... Staring, Daniel."

"Oh! Jeez. Sorry. Just.. the last day or so has been.. a lot. Sorry." Reflexively he removed his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt.  
Picking up his own slice of pizza he studiously focused on eating, ignoring Rorschach's mouth noises as per usual. It all actually felt wonderfully normal. This was more of the same, sharing his house and his food with the man he knew and--respected. In a purely professional way. Without any ulterior motives or unseemly emotions. 

Ah, hell.  
********  
Rorschach was going to leave soon, Dan could tell. Without knowing where he would sleep or what he would eat or even if he could keep his newest wound relatively clean, Dan worried. A completely platonic worry. Honest.

Dan mentally clutched at his own hair and groaned, outwardly trying to remain stoic. His growing affection for someone who was basically a crime-fighting cactus in a fedora had been a source of contention with himself for years, but it all had really come to a head the night before. 

When Rorschach took that knife... Dan was certain it was gonna be the end, that Rorschach would go down and be set upon and never get up again. He had grabbed and twisted and broken and bashed his way through a veritable throng to get to his partner, relieved to know the remaining knot tops had chosen to flee and elated when Rorschach was present enough to point it out. He barely remembered the short trek from the alley to Archie, and remembered too well the argument with an angry Rorschach who was losing far too much blood.

Then the dreamlike recollection of seeing more of Rorschach's body than he ever could have hoped... If given a million years he never would have guessed at what was under the grumpy detective's clothes besides "a lot of muscle and maybe a secret stash of sugar cubes", but what he had seen (or not seen) almost... made sense. And if he were honest, which he always tried to be, it didn't matter at all. Rorschach was Rorschach, had been and would always be just exactly who he was no matter the circumstances. That was part of why Dan lo--

"Thank you, Daniel." Dan just barely managed to avoid a guilty jump. "Must go now," Rorschach stood slowly and brought his mask back down with a firm tug. He extended his hand, a rare invitation for physical contact that Dan tried not to leap for each time.

He (slowly, carefully) shook the offered hand, then savored those few extra moments where Rorschach never seemed sure when it was appropriate to let go. 

When Rorschach finally dropped his hand, Dan cleared his throat. "Just.. come by if you need anything, ok? Anything at all."

Rorschach cocked his head and made a sub-vocal sound that probably meant "don't I already?" and turned to leave. Floundering for something less ridiculous to say, it shot out of his mouth before Dan could stop it:

"To my grave, man. I mean it."

Rorschach threw an ink-shrouded look back over his shoulder, "hurm"ed, nodded and left.

Hell and damnation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so glad to get this all posted. 
> 
> come see me on tumblr at transpunkspacejunk and holler about stuff with me.

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY SHIT I NEED TO SLEEP. i'll post the rest later. 
> 
> yo I'm transpunkspacejunk on tumblr, come yell at me.


End file.
